In Time
by Pens Are Not Good Weapons
Summary: Historical CB set during the early reign of Henry Tudor VIII.
1. Prologue

So this is my first GG fanfiction and I might change the title later. It's set in the early reign of the well-known Henry Tudor VIII. Please understand that some of the characters may seem OOC at first, but I'm only just setting characters and motivations up. There'll be some character development later on. Also, please excuse the historical inaccuracies. I tried to research a little and find some real life historical figures with relationships and histories most similar to the characters on GG, but they're not exact and I took the liberty of adjusting them and combining a few people to fit. I'm bound to have a few intentional or unintentional inaccuracies, but feel free to correct me if you spot some and feel that they are mistakes.

I'll apologize beforehand for irregular updating. Finally, I'm just going to put out there that I hate prologues. People should just get straight on with the story and introduce the background along the way. With that said, here's the prologue :)

* * *

Prologue

The garden, bursting with abundance and tree boughs bowing low with their heavy loads of green, was alive in the mild, comfortable warmth of French countryside summers, buzzing with hidden workers, fluttering of painted paper, and humming of the living colors of spring. The low trees strained against the heavy loads of fresh fruit, ripe and ready to burst free. A pristine, white fountain bubbled like a playful brook, winking in yellow glow. Tartness of lemons, sugar filled peaches, and soothing lavender blossoms filtered through the air; the golden-orange mists tasted of sweetness. A towering tree bearing the purest snow white apple blossoms rose above the early afternoon lights, twisting and stretching its arms up to stroke the flaming sky teasingly. There, under the shade of the pergola colored with climbing wisteria and rose, a man stood with his young child.

"My little lady."

"Yes, Papa," a young girl no older than eight answered.

She possessed the dark coloring and pale skin characteristic of her noble house.

"I'm about to tell you something very important, and I want you to remember it and keep it in your heart. Can you do that for me?" the kindly man said gravely while kneeling down to face his beloved daughter.

The smile wrinkles around his aging, yet still lively face pulled tensely in an unusually serious manner unsuited to his normally playful demeanor. The movement startled the perceptive young girl, but she nodded her head and faced him with deep brown eyes much too old for someone her age.

"Do not be frightened, my little lady," he soothed, noticing her tense posture.

She pulled at the flowery fabric of her skirt in a manner that revealed her young innocence. He made a small smile at the gesture, noting to himself that he'd treated her, although with much love, with the truth, respect, and responsibility normally reserved for a much older child. She was his only child and he'd always believed, just has his own father had taught him, that children should be given both the freedom and respect, as well as the responsibility of an adult to nurture the morals his house honored.

Looking into her eyes now, he could barely believe the depth of them and remembered the day she'd first opened her eyes to the world. That day, he believed that she wasn't seeing the world, but that the world was seeing her, and he knew, that one day, she'd be destined for something great. As she grew older, that fact was becoming more and more clear. She had been born with the heart, body, and soul of a woman, but the mind and spirit of a man. He only hoped that by the time she grew to become a woman and was ready to show what she could gift to the world, the world was ready for her.

"I believe in you. I've always believed in you, that you are destined for great things one day, and I want you to know that," he paused, making sure his daughter had absorbed his words, and he found her looking at him solemnly, albeit still swinging her skirts ever so slightly, before continuing, "But I also believe that there are wolves in this world, and it will be a long time, perhaps never, when women cease to be lambs."

His little daughter bit her bottom lip with worry in her eyes and it pained him that he could not protect her from those wolves.

"Papa, have I made you angry? I am sorry. I can repent, and then will you forgive me and forget everything th-"

"Blair, dear. No, of course not. I'm not angry at you," he consoled the panicked girl.

"Then why-"

"My daughter, I need you to listen carefully now. I am proud of you, truly, but it is a dangerous thing for a woman with intelligence, and even more so for one with ambition. You, my dear, are a girl who will one day become a strong, intelligent young woman, yet promise me that you will not seek for power, even though I know that you will have the means to do so. You must never wish for things that are not yours, promise me," he ended firmly with an intensity that startled even himself.

"I promise," she whispered, her eyes cast at her feet.

"No matter what changes."

"I promise," she affirmed obediently, more strongly the second time.

"Outside these walls is a cold world, and I cannot protect you forever. Wolves may enter the fold, and you may wish to become one to escape the fate of a lamb, but know this: there can only be one wolf in the end."

"Yes, father."

The man let out a silent breath, satisfied, and rose to his feet. Taking her small hand in his, he lead the young child to the arbor.

"Come, my dear, we can play with the rabbits."

She did not respond and looked sullenly at the grass between her bare toes.

"What were their names again?" he teased lightly.

"Mouchetures and Josette," she giggled, relenting.

The father took in a deep breath and inhaled the cool scent of lavender and peaches as the setting sun cast warm, orange hues upon the safety of the paradise in their garden. The white wings of butterflies glowed sunset colors as they flitted through the air, resting across blossom laden boughs. He smiled contentedly as his daughter's dark tresses flounced carefreely in the wind as she made her way to the little warren they had built together for the rabbits when the breath of spring had just touched their home. The tousled grass dancing in the gentle breeze parted for the pair.

As he watched his daughter, his mind dwelled on why he had chosen this moment to warn his daughter after hiding her for so long from the outside world. Her compassionate understanding and wide-eyed innocence bore at his heart and he wondered if it was wrong for him to keep her away from the darkness.

"Father?" the young girl looked up with doe brown eyes as the two leisurely walked back toward the castle.

"Mm?"

"The wolf…" she trailed off hesitantly.

He lifted his eyes from the nursemaid who had walked out to greet them and turned to face his young daughter.

"The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together. Isaiah 11:6-everything," she paused to find his eyes, "will be okay."

He let out a light breath of astonishment at the earnest, reassuring look in the eyes of an old soul.

"Perhaps," he remarked quietly, troubled.

He quickly cast a warm look over his daughter and she grinned a small smile and he suddenly thought she was a thousand years old again before she bounded away into her nurse's welcoming arms, breaking his thought. The nurse was a stout, robust, and stern looking woman, yet she was of remarkable patience, kindness, and compassion. She had been at the manor even before he was, as only a young girl and his senior by a few years, and had just as much claim to the home as her lord. Though she was often silent, she knew more about anything and anyone at the manor than anyone else.

The woman looked to him with slight concern and a knowing look in her eyes. He nodded to her. She pursed her lips and paused briefly before turning back to the young girl and leading her inside.

He let the sun wash over him and letting out a sigh, he smiled sadly and couldn't help but feel as though their garden sanctuary was but a painted refuge. Casting one last wistful look over the blooming garden that seemed would last forever, he wished it could be spring for many more seasons to come. He allowed his gaze to linger before heading inside.

* * *

_ Across the English Channel_

_'...and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them…'_ a stern faced man mused.

He stood facing the window at his vast estate that stretched for miles and miles past as far as his eyes could see. Then he glanced up at the dark, rolling clouds overhead that threatened to spill angry tears and the sky that warned it would split. He narrowed his cold blue eyes and they turned to steel as sharp as the swords that cut through armor before turning to face a small boy standing before him.

_'The wolves of the House of York, the lions of Tudor...how long before there is no room for the both of them, and what of us?'_

"Charles."

"Yes, Father," the small child answered promptly with a twinge of uncertainty in his voice.

The room chilled when the man tensed disapprovingly, detecting the his son's not so well hidden wish for approval.

"Isaiah 11:6."

The boy found it difficult to look into his father's eyes, gazing intensely as they were, but he forced his dark ones up and stilled his trembling hands.

"Father?"

"Do you know it?" he asked calmly, disregarding his son's words.

The young child opened his mouth to reply but found that the words were caught on the tip of his tongue and had suddenly gotten lost in his throat.

The towering man stood tall and did not falter, as he had not expected his son to be able to answer.

He turned to face the window before he started again, "It tells of a mythical paradise where the wolves and sheep will lie together and a little child who shall lead the way. But you see, it is but a myth."

Angling his body, he looked straight into his son's eyes, "Tell me, can wolves and sheep lie together?"

"No, Father."

"Of course not," he scoffed, "They say there are two types of people in this world: the wolves and the sheep. But they're wrong. There are only people."

The boy gazed expectantly at him.

"You see, anyone can choose to be a wolf or a lamb. That is why at any one moment, the people you do not keep your guard against can suddenly betray you. The people you once thought to be weak can become the fiercest of us all."

He clenched his teeth at the bitter thought. His family began as staunch supporters of the House of York before facing betrayal from their own allies; they were the same lords and earls who sat at his dining table and fawned obsequiously at his father's feet. His father narrowly escaped death with a second marriage to Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of who had been the foremost heir to the Lancastrian throne and who was the current king, King Henry Tudor VII. His quick thinking and swift alliance change had saved his entire family from annihilation. His father had been in close cohorts with his uncle-in-law Warwick "the Kingmaker", until the man betrayed them and flipped to support the Lancasters.

"Remember this, Charles, anyone can choose be a wolf, but there can only be one in the end," he said coldly.

_'Does this child have what it takes to lead them?'_

* * *

_ Two Years Later_

The young girl stood silently, infinitely older as she blinked back unshed tears in sorrow for departing from her dear home. The once familiar cast iron gates were now unwelcoming and cold as they barred her way from the paradise she once believed would last forever.

"Come, Miss Blair. Is time to leave."

She remained in her position, unmoving and unwilling to allow her mother, only a few paces behind her nurse, to see her battling her emotions. After a long pause, she sniffled quietly and brushed away her tears as discreetly as she could manage.

"Mother, one more time...please,"

Her hard eyes faltered briefly and softened. With a small nod, she turned and left her young, nine year old daughter to bid her last goodbyes.

She swallowed with great difficulty and slowly reached forward to brush away the dried vines that hung limply on the ugly black rods. She gripped the bars tightly and shoved her weight against the gate as loud creaks rippled through the air. The low, yellow grasses shied away, shielding themselves from the terrible cries of protest when the hinges gave way. As the gate opened, it scratched long, horrible trenches in the caked dirt.

Her eyes swept over her desolate surroundings. Winter had just begun to settle in the low rolling hills and the season had not been merciful on her and her father's beloved sanctuary. The garden was left painfully barren and empty in stark contrast to the vibrant life abound only two seasons ago. Nothing was spared except the fragrant lavenders that grew in wild tangles around the new addition that was erected that year.

Blair urged her feet forward in small shuffles to the stone marker that she never wanted to face. The day her father came home, not in person with his warm smile and loving embraces, but in a wooden box, her whole world became an everlasting winter. She wanted to keep the garden fresh and alive for her father, but nature cruelly would not allow it. She'd thought if everything around him was alive, that he would come back, and that if she did not face it, it didn't have to be true.

She'd lived her entire life under that assumption, she thought bitterly. She pushed away the overgrowth that obscured the words that were engraved on the gravestone.

_In memory of_

_Harold Waldorf, Count of Ormond_

_Loving Father, Brother, Husband, and Son._

_May God Guide You Forever._

She sank to her knees and ran her fingers over the lines on the stone she now considered to be her father. With her bare hands, she began pulling the weeds that littered the area near his tombstone. With each handful, more and more tears began falling down her cheeks as she tore and scratched at the offending weeds angrily. When she settled down, she let out a shaky breath and collapsed against the stone. For a long while, she simply stared at the sky in hopes of viewing something unchanged and realized bitterly that even that had been altered by the cold winter months. With desolation in her eyes and heart, she pulled a few of the least affected lavender blooms she could find and lay them with meticulous care before her father.

Then, with a sudden anger, she pushed them away and severed the last comfort she had clung onto in her mind. She rose over to the rabbits in the enclosed warren and urged them out.

Blair softened her touch over the velvet fur of her beloved pets and last comfort she had as a connection to her father. The two rabbits moved to get closer to her and she gently kissed the two. She turned slowly back at her father, her anchor in life, and hardened her heart. She thought about the protected life she'd lived and slowly, tenderly, set the rabbits down outside the enclosure and safety of the garden where they had entrusted the remaining groundskeepers with the caretaking of the rabbits.

"Be free," she whispered, "This is all a falsehood, and when winter comes you best be ready."

With that, she parted with her home, mourning the premature loss of life and innocence.

* * *

Please R&R


	2. Chapter 1: The Things That Stay The Same

I'm actually pretty proud of myself for getting this done so fast, all things considered. So, without further ado...

* * *

The Things that Stay the Same

_8 Years Later_

"Lord Rose!" boomed a low, confident voice as a young man stood up with arms wide open, as if exhibiting the grandeur of his establishment.

"My king," said the man, bowing humbly before him.

Early morning light filtered through the rose colored stained glass and made a kaleidoscope on the dark, sleek floors of a grand throne room.

"Please, call me Henry," he motioned for the man to rise, "as you did before I was crowned."

The long, pregnant pause that occurred afterwards accentuated the awkwardness of the situation. Both men shifted uncomfortably in the unusual circumstances. Since it was not expected that the second son of the previous king would take the throne (due to the untimely death of his brother), the two men had an unusually close relationship, much less guarded than any the crown prince ever had. The crowning combined with the lord's rather long absence from court had put a strain on their relationship where neither was sure where they stood. Especially from the elder, who harbored the smallest fear that his position of confidence with the king was no longer as secure as before.

However, it was the Earl of Northumberland who recovered first with a bright smile spread upon his jovial face. He was an aging, humble-looking, and approachable man with an agreeable, sunny disposition.

"Henry," he acknowledged warmly, rising.

The younger man returned the gesture with equal warmth, much more comfortable in a way only the other could draw out of him.

"Come!" he said self-assuredly, motioning to resume their practice of regular strolls through the gardens before the lord's departure, "You must tell me of your stays back at your estate. What have you been doing? I have not heard much from you since the official second marriage to the new Lady Rose."

The Lord Rose smiled crookedly with a glint of mischievousness, "Are you sure, Henry?"

It only took a moment for the young king to catch onto the meaning of his words and laughed heartily.

"And a lucky match, to be sure. But what of your son? I have not seen him at court since I was ten for..._the occasion_."

He looked sadly at the young man and they shared a knowing look together. The young man had been remarkably close with his now deceased elder brother.

"I am pleased you remember," he started slowly, easing away from the dark memory, "My son is very forgettable and not well suited to the intricacies of court life. His talents are mediocre at best."

"Nonsense! If he even inherited one quarter of your intelligence he'd easily win the respect of half the court. You are too modest," Henry laughed gaily.

"And you, my king, flatter me too much to please a poor old man's health."

"An old man who has lost anything but his faculties, and, from what I hear from you, his vitality," he winked.

"You do love to tease me so."

"Some things never change, even with time. I would certainly enjoy meeting your eldest for a second time. I am a newly crowned and untested king. It would do me good to have another man I can trust close by," he paused, "As you know, the Privy Council is defaulted following the end of each reign, and there are some recently vacated positions."

"My king!" he exclaimed, surprised at the generous meaning.

He resumed much more confidently, "You know I would place you upon the position of Sovereign in an instant had I not heard of your intentions to withdraw from court politics, but I would not ask of you to rescind your decision on my own selfishness."

The elder made a motion to protest, but he waved the objection at his self-judgement away to continue,

"I believe that if your son is anything like you, my decision will be a wise one," he said, with a solemn expression, "I wish to surround myself with loyal, talented men, and I realize that many of the lords who served on my father's council were corrupt and deceitful. I'm sure you've heard of the execution of the two ministers I charged with high treason, Sir Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley. They have been slowly rotting the land with their poisonous acts and I do not wish for past events to repeat themselves."

When he finished he looked into the other man's eyes expectantly.

The man pondered over the previous' words for a polite moment before responding, "My king, you think of me too highly, but I will heed your words and send for my son, though I do not wish to see you so disappointed."

The former brightened happily and clapped the Lord Rose on his back, returning to the former light atmosphere.

"I will anticipate the date of his arrival...And what of the young daughter of your lady, the Duchess of Somerset. I have yet to see this young lady at court, although I do hear much of her," he added lightly, almost as an afterthought to extend the conversation.

"All good words I hope," he commented good-humoredly.

"Certainly so. I hear she is a great beauty and is currently in the French Court of King Francis I. Why is that so?"

"It does seem untraditional. It was at her mother's request that she be placed there and to learn from French instructors, though it is not her true native land."

"She is not French?"

"The lady was born and raised in that country, but her father was the Count of Ormond in Ireland, where she has her roots."

"And her mother is English?"

"Yes, the Lady Eleanor is. I believe the young Lady Blair had some part in the matter. She seems to prefer France, as she spent the better portion of her life there and has only briefly visited Ireland, though she resided at my estates for a few years when she was younger."

"Odd indeed. Pardon my forwardness, but the late Count of Ormond had the most unusual circumstances surrounding his passing and the inheritance of his assets. It has made ripples even here in faraway England. I hear that he had requested all of his assets and titles to be bestowed upon his young daughter at the time of his passing, should his widow choose to remarry."

"It is true. He made sure his daughter would be well outfitted following his passing. Had he not, on her remarriage, his assets would fall under the control of the new husband, and if the man were cruel enough, he could leave the young lady penniless."

The king nodded thoughtfully, "He is a careful man and I respect him, despite his untraditional ways. The Counts and Countesses of Ormond have always been loyal supporters of the House of Lancaster. He was critical to the success of my father's military campaign, and I had heard from my father that the man even saved his life on more than one occasion, and eventually at the cost of his own. Had he chosen to remain passively in France following his participation in the establishment of his nephew as the French king, my father nor I would be here today. The country owes him a great service."

Lord Rose nodded in agreement appreciatively, "The Sixth Countess of Ormond certainly comes from an honorable bloodline. She is a respectable young woman, and though I'm sure she would do well in governing her lands, it is a shame that her father did not leave any male heirs to inherit the County of Ormond. After marriage and the birth of her children, the ancestral county would pass out of the noble name of her heritage forever; should she chose to remain unmarried, though unheard of, the lands would disappear from her family line completely and revert to the crown."

"Such unfortunate circumstances," he commented contemplatively as the two men walked side-by-side along a bright corridor open to the sky, "Has the young lady thought of marriage yet? I would be honored to set up her marriage to a meritorious bachelor to carry on her family legacy with pride."

"I am most flattered at your good grace, but her father before his passing had already arranged a potential match. And although I am not sure how solid this match is, I wish to resume talks with the family in honor of his wishes as soon as I am on better terms with my step-daughter once she reaches England."

"Reaches England? She is coming to my court?"

"Yes, it was very sudden. I do not know the full reason why, but I just received word from Lady Eleanor in Northumberland that she would be arriving in England as one of the new ladies-in-waiting to your Queen. Forgive me, I did not realize I had yet to inform you."

Henry shrugged away his apology lightly and joked, "Ah, arriving as part of Queen Catherine's envoy. There are many men at court who have been waiting for the event for a long time and consider it the occasion of the year."

"Hopefully none too eager, as I have yet to cement the match between the two with the family," he returned good-humoredly.

"I am curious, what is the family you speak of?"

"They are the notable Archibalds of Shrewsbury, who also hold a position in Ireland."

Henry's interest was piqued, "The Archibalds? Nathaniel Archibald?"

"You know the man?"

"He is a close friend. In fact, I had him in mind when I offered to procure a match for the lady," he said, chuckling.

"He is a good man?" he inquired.

"Most definitely."

* * *

"Nathaniel!"

"Chuck, where have you been," a blonde young man called urgently.

"Never mind, don't answer that," he added quickly after observing that the man's doublet was slightly askew.

"Are you sure? You could learn a thing or two," he added with his trademark smirk.

Then, he noticed the seriousness of the look in his friend's eyes and straightened unconsciously.

"What is it?"

"Honestly I do not know. Your father only asked to see you at your home."

He snorted, "Asked is too mild a word for him."

His friend let out a light laugh, "You could say that again. You know how that man scares me...so go and face your father before he comes and finds me again."

The dark-haired young man gave his friend a genuine smile and clapped him on the back before heading towards the stables. He mounted a handsome black horse and rode for his family's London residence nearby. Charles Bartholomew Bass knew that when his father bothered to talk to one of his friends it had to be serious. Lord Bass had probably enjoyed the conversation with just as much enthusiasm as Nathaniel did.

His father didn't often come to court unless he was participating in what he deemed a mandatory social event or to preside in his position as Clerk on the Privy Council, which made it unusual that he had been at the palace. But now, under the reign of the new king, Chuck knew that there were going to be some serious changes to the balance of power in England, and his father was shrewd to observe them carefully. The new king had already removed several Councillors. Among them, two had been executed. Despite his determination to be as far removed from any court intrigues not involving amorous relations with his numerous and varied paramours, Chuck was intuitive enough to realize that that was about to change as well. New additions from many noble clans had been invited to King Henry's court, bolstering the power of a new group of nobles, while weakening the remainder simultaneously. Now, there were no more shadows for him to hide in.

The militarily and financially powerful status of his family only threw them in further danger, and now their position among the inner circle was tenuous at best. Despite the favor they enjoyed due to family connections under the previous king, when his health began to fail and his second son slowly began to hold more power, Chuck had already noticed that the new king did not share his father's same appreciation for the former's old relations and allies. His father's position on the Privy Council was only a formality, because the young king still simply could not afford to offend the powerful Lord Bass overtly. However, his father was _privy _to as little as the king could keep from him. The man distrusted his father, and although he could not blame him for that, the thought did not sit easily with him. Yet still, Chuck was included among the king's closest friends. It was an odd circumstance, and though the younger generation tried to keep politics from breaking up their old friendships, it kept creeping in like poison, and the men slowly began to distrust one another, even in the smallest of ways.

Chuck nodded firmly with detached formality to the servant who took the reins of his horse for him. His family's city estate, Derby House, was one of the few residences done in the Renaissance style, unlike many of the other nobles who still held townhouses with Baroque architecture. His family, despite being one of the wealthiest and most powerful, was still a relatively new noble house and favored progression.

Though unremarkable in exterior with its characteristic symmetrical alignment, the mere size was imposing enough, with twelve rooftop pavilions and rich balustrades and sophisticated friezes that served to enhance the daunting nature of the structure. The interior was much more grand. It was dark with clean lines and nothing unnecessary, but with all the most expensive materials: sleek marble, shining bronzes, and fine gold ornaments. The enormous space of the tall entryway suddenly made him feel very small as he prepared to face his toughest critic, his most uncompromising judge.

Before he knocked on the tall oak double doors, he paused to straighten his clothing and smooth back his hair despite himself. Then he rapped politely three times in a way that somehow always managed to seem condescending to his father and anyone who met him before entering at his own accord.

He walked leisurely in, despite his rush to arrive at the manor by horse earlier, with a characteristically confident saunter and charismatic smirk, which his father obviously did not find endearing. His smirk only grew, never betraying him, when his father did not take the effort to even lift his head before saying,

"You're late."

"Only if you have somewhere to be."

At this, his father grazed his cold blue eyes over his son before looking down at his papers again wordlessly. Chuck shifted uncomfortably in the silence and emptiness of the cold room. It was at least a quarter of an hour before his father set down his quill, carefully rolled up the papers, and sealed them close with a red wax seal and some ribbon.

"You have been seeing the king lately?" he asked suddenly.

His question was spoken more as a statement, and though Chuck had been staring straight at him for the past quarter hour, the abrupt continuation of what barely counted as a conversation had startled him.

He did not respond but the older man continued unfazed.

"I'm sure you have already noticed a change in him."

"He does seem younger. I'm sure that detail interests you," he sniped instinctively.

Lord Bass shot a look of blatant disapproval that had been memorized by his son at an early age. Shocking his son even more, however, he simply said,

"Yes. But it's your youth that concerns me more."

Chuck frowned, for once at a loss of words. He could not decipher the cryptic words of his father, but the latter did not care to elaborate further.

"You would be a fool to be ignorant to the danger of our situation. These other noble houses are finding footholds at court. Footholds that used to belong to us," he said darkly.

"I don't see how it concerns me," he replied with the most convincingly nonchalant tone he could muster, as his father had never bothered nor trusted to involve him with any business or political affairs before.

But as soon as the words escaped his mouth and he saw the hooded expression hard on his father's face did he begin to realize the full extent of the situation.

"Then you are a fool. These footholds are what protect us from the fates of Sir Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley. Don't think that just because you have a mere eight years of superficial friendships with the king and the sons of these lords who replace us that they will not turn on you in an instant when noble houses and family loyalties come to bid."

Chuck clenched his teeth, angry and suspicious at his father's words, refusing to believe that his camaraderie with the other lord's sons was so weak as to fall so soon. Nearly a decade of companionship and trust did not break nor disappear so easily. They had grown up together and defended each other. They would surely weather this storm.

"While you wait anxiously for the arrival of new whores from France, you do not even seek to know the new rivals in this game of life you love to play so much. These opponents will crush you before you even have the chance to understand why. Lord Rose's only son will be arriving in London and attending the festivities this evening, and so will his step-daughter. The man may seem friendly and harmless, but he has just as much hunger for power as the rest of them. Lord Rose is the King's most trusted and most influential adviser, and his power grows with each day you spend wasting your youth on prostitutes and wine. And he most certainly is not to be underestimated. His allies are flooding into the capital while ours retreat. Where are they now? They have left to cower in their country estates and fortified earldoms. These are the nobles who depend on us to defend their lives and they have already deserted us. How long do you think your meager friendships will hold? While you drink yourself into stupor tonight with your two-faced comrades, at the very least seek out the two faces of the King and Lord Rose," he said condescendingly in a steely calm tone.

His father's locked jaw and icy eyes instilled fear in even the strongest of hearts and frustration settled upon the room, looming overhead heavily like a dark, angry cloud of buzzing cicadas. The tall room shrank rapidly and the only place for him to hide from those cold eyes was behind his own outward confidence.

Chuck felt as though he was nine years old again after failing to please his father over and over and he flooded with an unwanted shame. It was at that time when he realized that he could never be good enough unless he had surpassed the great Lord Bartholomew Bass in all exploits, starting as a beggar. And now, he had to leave, skulking out after a scolding because his father was not one to burst out into anger and storm out, because that would have to mean he cared. But even his own anger couldn't mask his embarrassment. A passing thought flitted through his mind and he nearly scoffed over what had just been the greatest amount of interest his father had ever shown in him in his entire life.

As he turned to leave, his father stoically called after him.

"The woman I will marry and her family will attend the ball this evening. Will you meet them?"

Chuck paused briefly, allowing the words to settle into his mind. These were the people he had adamantly refused to see and even refused to know their names for months. Every time their existence was mentioned, bile began to rise in his throat and his fists began to clench. But as the wedding date drew nearer, the fact was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. He pushed them from his mind and continued on his way out.

Lord Bass grunted and in a low voice, said "You would only reflect me negatively," thinking that his words would not carry to his son's ears.

He was sure it wouldn't have mattered to his father either way. Chuck was already halfway out the door by that time, and in his anger, forgot to tell his father that there could only be one Lady Bass

* * *

_Outside London_

After her father died, a man kept visiting the Waldorf residence. He was kind and caring and loud and cheerful and pleasant and altogether despicable. He treated her well and she couldn't have hated him more. He was a visiting diplomat from foreign England that aided her inexperienced mother with the legal proceedings and spoke an odd sort of French. Blair didn't understand how a man could be shameless enough to come into a household of mourning and interrupt the tragedy with his bright smiles and flashing teeth. Every time he made her smile and laugh she hated him more. With each month that passed he came more and more often until he became a regular guest to the estate, rather than simply the occasional unnoticable visitor. Eventually, he brought a boy named Aaron who was only a few years older than she was to the Waldorf chateau. At first she couldn't understand why, until she realized that they were attempting to join two families into one. When she came to the realization, every bone, muscle, and fiber in her body decided that she despised the kind and caring and loud and cheerful and pleasant man who was called Cyrus Rose, or Lord Rose, as he was referred to as.

Then came the moment ingrained in her memory as the most miserable moment in her life, second only to the death of her father: the day when Cyrus Rose, or Lord Rose, became known, at her mother and the man's combined insistence, as father. It was eight years ago to the day when she was forced to leave her beloved sanctuary in France and make way for the dark and gray England, where heavy rains and gloomy skies constantly afflicted the country to a state of somber melancholy.

In the estate at Northumberland, she and her mother had been welcomed warmly. It was shocking for her to think that her mother, a widow, would be residing with another man while still unmarried (and to the mind of a young girl, still married to her father). The quickness with which the entire situation was executed stunned her even more. Her mother may have allowed herself to remain unmarried in law due to her matrimonial obligations and concern about social appearances to mourn her late husband for a respectable amount of time, but she had been Lord Rose's wife long before their marriage.

Blair was no fool. She had always known that her parent's marriage was not a love match, and that if her mother ever had any true compassion for her father, that it certainly did not extend beyond the grave. The most they could've possibly shared together was a mutual respect, and the only tangible thing was Blair herself. Still, six years before her mother's remarriage may have been a long time to the rest of the world, but to her, no length of time could replace the hole in her heart- the hole that should've been in her mother's heart.

Her emptiness was magnified in the hollow halls of Alnwick Castle. As a young girl, unfamiliar to the traditions and language of England, she was surrounded by strangers, yet she never wished to know anyone. Blair even initially refused to learn English. She never intended to remain in a land where no matter how long she stayed, always seemed foreign. She thought that anything she did that attached herself to the land became another obstacle in the way of her return to France. Between tutoring in domestic skills and chaperoned visits to the young boy who was her fiancé, there was little worth mentioning of those three years of her life, and anything she still remembered she tried to forget. There were few good memories that stood out from that time.

Now, five years later from her return to France, she was once again forced to make the journey from her homeland towards England. No matter how far she was with even a body of water separating them, she never forgot that she was at her mother's beck and call. That fact was made none the more clear than with a single finely penned letter from her mother recalling her from the relaxed, beautiful days spent in the light halls and colorful courts in France, where she was surrounded by warmth and the kindness of the French ladies and Queen. Simply for a man who had been a boy that she barely remembered, except for a vague, hazy feeling of warmth, she had left, at her mother's orders, all that she knew and loved behind. Frowning briefly, she recalled her mother's peculiar instructions and felt tempted to draw out the letter that she had kept against her orders out of the smallest, most insignificant of rebellions. Blair laughed harshly at the thought of her silly little revolts.

Before she had departed, accompanied by her trusty nurse, she had visited the home she was born in. As she lay with her back against the cool marble floors in the great drawing room, she tried to memorize every curve, cornice, and corner. Old feelings and memories surfaced, ambushing her when she was left alone to herself in that great, large room. Only then had she truly accepted that her father was dead. Lying alone in silence, she had allowed herself to release the tears she was never able to shed. But she could not bear to visit the garden.

Shaking out of her musings, Blair Waldorf watched in silence at the London countryside through the low square framed window from the carriage. The horses bucked and neighed at the injustice of the coachman's whip, sending shivers rumbling through the carriage. She wondered to herself why such a rush was necessary to reach London before the night when the English capital had such an abundance of inns. But they were not a woman's concerns and she pushed it out of her mind.

Instead she turned away from the nauseating sight of dizzy hills as opposed to the gentle slopes of France and shifted towards the other ladies in the carriage. A harsh looking woman with a tight crown of braids caught her eye and Blair quickly looked away. Her hand instinctively moved towards her own cascading waves held back by a French gable at the sight of the woman's painfully tight bun. She did not recognize the woman and reasoned she must be Spanish. The other two ladies who rode with her seemed to be otherwise engaged when their shaky needlework gave way midway to sleep.

The distant sight of tall spires rising out of the ground gradually grew taller and larger, affirming the reality of where she actually was. When at last she could not look at the gray-brown buildings without the sickening drops and churning of her stomach, she rested her head against the stiff board of the carriage, and like the other ladies, resigned herself to sleep, still thinking back on a time when a beautiful garden paradise was in full bloom, because she could not bear to think of it in any other way.

* * *

Please R&R. Let me know what you think. :3 ← Food for the soul

Yeah...sorry. I know you were expecting a meeting between Chuck and Blair. What can you do? Lol.

Good news is that the introductions are pretty much over and Chuck and Blair will be laying eyes on one another next chapter. :)


End file.
